Spin
by MiniPigLaughs
Summary: It was only late at night when she wondered if it had ever happened at all. GSR.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

She supposed she must look like a mad woman to anyone who was watching, standing in the centre of her tiny living room screaming profanities at the wall. Not that anyone _but_ the wall was watching, but still. Maybe a wall would be good company after all, they could talk about things like Bigs and Pugs and… and –

- What was that?

She cocked her head to one side, not noticing when the half-empty can of beer slid from her grasp, and moved towards the wall. She lowered her eyes to the photograph in a silver frame, suspended on a thin piece of wire. Scratched into the silver lay delicate hearts, scattered in the reflective material.

She leaned closer.

For a second there, she could have sworn she saw his face flicker. The sudden cold of the glass against her nose made her jump, and she steadied herself with a palm pressed flat on the wall.

Grissom's content expression didn't waver. She narrowed her eyes._ That Bastard._ The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She wanted to stamp out the light dancing in his gaze. She wanted to kick him and slap him and hold him close and kiss him and kiss him and kiss…

Finally, Sara broke her stare and staggered over to the couch. Her foot must have caught something, and she spun to see what it was, losing her bearing momentarily and falling sprawled on the disarray of plump cushions. She recoiled at the velvety texture. She didn't deserve its comfort.

That couch was far too comfortable, why had she bought it anyway? Briefly, she allowed a memory of fumbling limbs, tangled clothing, breathless whispers to flit across her mind, but the images were too painful. She scrambled off the couch to the floor, scratching at the gnarled wooden flooring to get away from the offending piece of furniture. It was her enemy.

She reached the other side of the room in relative safety, shooting furtive glances back at the couch every few seconds. She slumped forwards, suddenly exhausted. Like a cat curled up in front of the fire, she stretched and then spread out on her stomach, crossing her feet, tight, at the ankles. Her socks were loose, the left dangling precariously from her toes to drape lazily on the floor.

The rug was rough against her cheek, and she decided she liked its course texture. It reminded her of something… something her hazy mind couldn't quite name… but it was good. She sighed, and propped her head up with a weary arm. She liked the awkward position - the way her elbow creaked in displeasure, pressed into a gap in the floorboards.

Grissom had said that he liked her apartment; he had liked the striking colour scheme, saying it complemented her personality. He had often said the rug made the room feel loved and cosy, with its colours and unique weaving. She fingered a few loose strands with her free arm, pasting a ghost of a smile on her face before replacing her features into blank indifference once more. The effort felt too great.

_He said he loved me. _

Sara laughed bitterly, her head balanced upon too-thin arms until the tired limbs gave way completely, forcing her head to crash down on the hard, wooden floor. For some reason this made her laugh even more, huge hollow guffaws then suddenly she was sobbing.

Fat tears that wouldn't stop.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sara shifts uncomfortably, the sheets tangling around her ankles. They cling, refusing to free her legs, until she kicks. Her final, frantic movement sends the entire disorganized mess of blanket to fall in a heap on the floor, and she is free._

_She whimpers slightly, reaching out for the warm body on the other side of her bed, but it is not there. Her fist tightens around empty air. _

_Confused, she opens her eyes, forcing them to adjust to the bright yellow streetlamps streaming through the curtains. A hard fist rubs her face, rubs away her nightmares, but the uncomfortable knot of fear still clutches at her stomach, making her nauseous. _

_Her slippers, a present from Grissom the previous Christmas, are soft as she slides her feet neatly into them. He'd said, laughing, that he liked her feet, how vulnerable they appeared as she padded around her apartment barefoot. He'd wanted to protect them. _

_She'd slapped his thigh and laughed nervously, caught somewhere between pleasure and discomfort at his words, but she'd accepted the gift. They were red velvet, with black spider webs sewn into the cushiony material. _

_The bedroom door creaked angrily at her gentle push, the sound resonating through the quiet apartment along with the swish of her night shirt around her knees and the shuffle of her feet. _

"_Griss…?" She called softly to the dark room. _

_She turned the lamp on, her eyes protesting to the harsh glare. A piece of paper on the coffee table caught her eye, and she crouched by the couch to retrieve it. _

Sara,

I got called in.

Grissom.

_She frowned a little at the note, crinkling a corner of the paper between her thumb and forefinger as she read, and fought down the disappointment that he wasn't here. _

_It was like that, in the beginning, when the sudden rush of adrenaline at having found each other wore down to the reality. _

_Grissom was still untouchable; Sara was still unsettled. And together, she could no longer remember who they were. _

_She wondered, again, when exactly the conversation had begun to dry up, why he had stopped insisting on spending less time at the lab, and how she had let him slip away so quickly. _

The Las Vegas Crime Lab was busy, as always, the corridors bustling and alive with chatter and case files and orders for coffee. It was early evening, with the dregs of day shift still mingling in some of the rooms, last minute evidence spread on tables.

Sara stood in the breakroom, fiddling with the handle of her coffee mug. She felt decidedly out of place, having narrowly escaped the raucous discussion behind her between Greg and Nick. As far as she could tell, they were competing to see who had had the most successful date the previous Saturday, and had tried to drag Sara into their fight. She had managed to decline without too much fuss, claiming to have a headache.

However much of an untruth that had been, she could feel the familiar strain rising in her temples, and leant her head against her hand on the counter, massaging her scalp with long fingers.

She sighed as their voices rose, and they battled, laughing.

A third male voice in the room made the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention. She felt herself tense, her shoulders stiff and uncomfortable, but forced herself to turn round. She didn't even try to plaster a large smile across her face. She would have liked the satisfaction, would have liked to let him know that without him she was still okay, but the effort would be futile and they both knew it.

She was greeted by his scowl.

"I'm not giving any new assignments out to night," Grissom said gruffly, "I'll be in my office if you need me."

Catherine, previously quiet, rose quickly, grabbed Nicky and escaped. Sara was about to turn to drain the last of her coffee, when she felt Grissom's eyes on her, burning.

She leveled her gaze with his from across the room, noticing with a hint of amusement that Greg's expression was vaguely scared, and gave Grissom her best, '_And?_' look.

He didn't take the bait, and instead cocked his head and asked, "A word?"

Greg fled.

"What is it, Grissom?" Sara asked, trying her hardest to keep her voice neutral, emotionless.

He calmly stepped back to close the breakroom door and turned back to her. In his eyes was a mystery, a thought that somewhere along the line Sara had stopped seeing. She'd almost stopped wanting to see. To let it in again could be fatal for her. She swallowed.

"I wanted to –" He began, stuffing his right hand into his pocket, his left swinging loosely in mid-air as some gesture of complete loss. He left it there, uncertain.

"Is it about the case?" She interrupted, suddenly losing all patience with the pretense. The pretending that they could ever be anything more than just co-workers. They'd had their chance, and, for some reason or another, they'd blown it. She wasn't going to go there.

The room was too stuffy, and she felt the moisture building in the palms of her hands. She wiped them discreetly on the front of her pants, hoping that her face wasn't flushed, that her voice wouldn't hitch.

"Look -" He tried again, his eyes skittering around her face before landing firmly on her angry glare and shook his head slightly.

"Then I don't care. I've got nothing to say to you anymore. I'm going to work."

The tirade was out before she could stop it, the words tumbling from her mouth like water from a fountain. Knowing that a moment longer in front of his bewildered stare would do her in completely, she lurched past him into the safety of the corridor, forcing her legs to get her out of there _now._

She wasn't prepared for the shock of his smooth hand capturing her wrist. It came out of nowhere; his fingers, cool yet scorching against her skin.

For a millisecond, she forgot to breathe. Forgot how to think, then reality shot back into her mind and she snatched her arm from his grip as if he had burned her. His face fell, watery eyes stunned at her movement.

She pointed a shaking finger at his face.

"Don't." She snarled, with a venom in her eyes he wasn't accustomed to, "Don't you _dare_."


End file.
